The Wolf Who Cried Love
by whitetiger91
Summary: "Freezing, Fenrir stared at the girl. His heart quickened, and a strange sensation swirled around his stomach. The girl was beautiful." Fenrir Greyback is a Werewolf: a fearless hunter who enjoys driving fear into his victims. So...why can't he kill this one? Rated T for minor language and themes...
1. Chapter 1

**The Wolf Who Cried Love**

 _ **Disclaimer: JK Rowling, if you weren't sure, owns everything to do with Harry Potter. I am but a humble writer trying to expand on my skills and bore people with my over-active imagination :)**_

 _ **A/N: I should begin by stating that this fic should've been a one-shot, which it sort of is in a way. However, due to the word count I'm estimating, I'm dividing it into four small chapters/ parts. The following two will be uploaded at some point tomorrow...**_

 _ **This was written for the Diagon Alley II forum's Fairytale Challenge. This time, I chose the classic fairytale prompt: The Boy Who Cried Wolf where I chose to focus on the alternative task to write about Fenrir Greyback.**_

 _ **Optional prompts:**_

 _ **Song: 'Overnight Sensation' by Born.**_

 _ **Words: Midnight, divine, seraphic, amethyst.**_

 _ **Dialogue: "You are an itch that needs to be scratched."**_

 _ **It was also written for the Challenge Your Versatility challenge.**_

 _ **I do hope you enjoy it!**_

* * *

 **Part One: Divine Intervention**

Fenrir's ears twitched back and forth, picking up the sound of light footsteps walking across the pavement. Tuning his ears in, he listened more carefully; yes, there were two of them, one of the owners skipping ahead of the other by two beats. Ten meters away… now nine… ah yes, there were their voices. Good, he wouldn't have to wait long then.

Moving deeper into the shadow of the swing set, he listened as the voices carried out across the night air.

"Hurry up, Christine, I want to get home!" a female voice shouted.

"Lighten up Petra, it's not even midnight yet. I want to enjoy the night as much as I can—you know my mother will ground me as soon as I get home," another, lighter voice replied.

Fenrir sniffed the air, catching the delightful scent of perfume and soap, and confirming his suspicions. Perfect, two women. His nostrils flaring, he took in the women's scents again, testing the individual tones that wafted to him. A touch of rose oil from one and… yes, there it was, that same, disgustingly delicious scent of Chanel Eau de Toilette many of his encounters seemed to douse themselves in. So these were young ladies—even better.

Creeping forward on bent knees, his yellow eyes glinted as the ladies finally came into view. The first girl, Petra, was marching forward, a fur coat wrapped around the skimpy lilac dress she wore. Around her throat, an ostentatiously large amethyst hung, swinging to and fro as she hurried along. Briefly glancing at her friend, he noticed that she, too, wore fine jewellery, a quick glint as they passed a street light indicating diamonds dripping down her throat. His attention turned back to Petra, his lips twisting into a smile. He would have fun with her. Perhaps he would make the girl believe that her life would be spared for a ransom? That he would allow her to live if mommy and daddy paid a small fee. Then, when the girl stared up at him, eyes wide with hope, he would pat her head, and whisper that he would be as gentle as possible with his teeth. Fenrir's heart beat faster at the prospect, his smile spanning further across his face. Yes, now that would be fun.

Petra turned her head back to the other girl, fear in her eyes as though she had been able to hear his thoughts. "Please, Christine… Have you not watched the news lately? People in this shire have been disappearing lately."

"Don't tell me your scared."

"Traces of _blood_ have been found around town," Petra emphasised, stopping under a lamp to completely face the other girl.

Fenrir noted with approval that the girl wasn't exactly model thin. Her dark brown hair was a little too long, and would probably get in the way, yet her voluptuous chest and wide thighs more than made up for it. She'd do him for the night.

The other girl, Christine, took her time in walking to her friend. With a laugh, she teased, "Please tell me that you don't still believe in the Werewolf of the forest? Honestly, Petra, you might have made me believe once, but now it's getting too much. Let it go already, you can't scare me with your stories anymore."

"That was in the sixth grade," Petra huffed. Folding her arms around her chest, she looked around.

Fenrir smirked, ducking back into the shadows. So they had heard about him? About time the stupid Muggles showed him some respect. In fact, he would begin with this Christine; he would make Petra's day and show the girls that yes, the big, bad wolf did exist.

Running his tongue over his sharp, pointed teeth and flexing his nails, he took a step forward. At the same time, however, Christine finally reached her friend, stepping forward under the lamplight.

Freezing, Fenrir stared at the girl. His heart quickened, and a strange sensation swirled around his stomach. The girl was beautiful. Christine wasn't simply pretty, like the runaway sixteen year olds he had cornered; she was an angel, an immaculate creation sent down by God that Fenrir had never seen before. Under the light, her blond locks shone like a golden halo, her smooth skin showing no imperfections. Her seraphic features didn't stop there, however; as she moved forward and enveloped her sulking friend in a hug, she smiled, and his heart took off. She was a divine gift sent down from the heavens.

Truth be told, she scared him.

Shaking his head roughly, Fenrir pushed back the thought. So what? The girl was beautiful, and that would only make her all the more pleasurable to his lips. God, or whoever the Muggles believed in these days, could test him all he wanted. He would have Christine—and Petra, for that matter—and take every delight in it.

Tensing his muscles, he strode forward again.

Petra shook Christine off, tears in her eyes. "I'm telling you, something is out there."

"Ok, ok, I believe you. Come on, let's go then," Christine said, holding her hands up as she placated her friend. Then, grabbing the brunette's arm, she twirled them in a circle, laughing.

Her giggles hit Fenrir like a bullet, preventing him yet again from pouncing. Dammit, what was with him? What power could one little girl hold over him? He glared at her, watching as she linked arms with Petra and gracefully, her tanned limbs long and shapely, continued walking down the street. Soon, they disappeared around the corner, the darkness their safety.

Growling, Fenrir kicked at a small pebble near his foot. So his feet could move, then? What a shame they allowed his meal to walk away! He sent another pebble flying across the park, teeth bared. Great, just great. The perfect opportunity, and he had blown it.

After several more stones were kicked, Fenrir raked his hand threw his thick, brown hair. Drawing in a deep breath, followed by another, he struggled to regain control. The moon was not yet at its peak, and if he wasn't careful, transforming would be rather painful. Even more than it would be with an empty stomach.

Luckily, his ears picked up another group of late-night wanderers. Tuning in, he realised with disappointment that their steps were sluggish and voices deep; an easy picking, yet probably not as tasty. Still, they would have to do. Preparing his muscles, he took off in their direction, cursing the blonde woman he had let go with every step.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two: A Vow**

"Ahhh, now that was good." Rupert sighed contentedly, patting his bulging stomach.

"Not enough," Alex—the newest member of their gang—disagreed, hopeful eyes looking around the forest floor. All that remained were shreds of clothing and a bone or two. The pup would be lucky to find a scrap of meat, clearly forgetting that only several hours before he had devoured the backpacker whole, his wolf form getting the better of him.

Fenrir laid back against a log, surveying Alex. He had been the one to turn him, taking the boy by surprise one afternoon as he walked home from school. Fenrir hadn't intended to let him live—No, he had wanted a quick meal. It was only that the boy, cowering away in the confines of an old shack he had been taken to, had begged to be spared, claiming that he would make a great companion for him. For whatever God-forsaken reason, Fenrir had relented halfway through clawing into the boy's skin. Now here he sat, picking his teeth with a rib, comfortable in the knowledge that the twenty-five year old watching him with contempt was now his older brother.

Fenrir closed his eyes. He was getting too soft—making too many mistakes. Ever since that fateful night a month ago, he had risked his chance of feeding again and again. How was he supposed to become the pack's Alpha and rule the forests himself if he couldn't even catch and kill easy prey? He was lucky enough that Rupert had shared this meal with him, even if it was a few pieces of flesh.

"Do you smell that?" Alex asked, breaking into Fenrir's thoughts. Opening his eyes a crack, he saw the boy sitting up, sniffing the air. "There—it smells like… Oh man, that's disgusting."

His nose twitched as he, too, smelt the air, curious as to what had caused Alex to scrunch up his nose. At first, he could not pick up a specific scent, the breeze blowing from the west. It was only when it changed direction that a bare hint of Chanel wafted through the air. Could it be?

"Good boy! Ah yes, what a find!" Rupert sat up, sniffing the air.

Fenrir was already on his feet, nose twitching a dozen to the nine. Yes, that was most definitely her. Perhaps he had a chance to set things right, after all.

Grinning at Rupert, he said, "I'll take this one. Tonight, we shall feast."

"Very good," Rupert agreed, relaxing again, a twisted smile upon his face. Turning to the young pup, he added, "You go with him, the experience will do you good."

Fenrir was already running, the earth flying beneath his bare feet. He ignored Alex's whine of protest, knowing the pup would soon follow him—unless he wanted to starve. Trees whipped by, a steady blur of green, grey and brown, as he gained momentum. The girl was close; he could feel her, taste the promise of her on the air. Yes, there—that was the unmistakable tinkle of her laughter. Veering to the left, he pounded on.

Finally, he skidded to a halt just before an opening in the tree line. The smell of pine mingled with the scent of freshly mowed grass and honey, yet it did not overpower the sickly-sweet perfume of the blonde kneeling down. Sidling behind a tree, Fenrir watched Christine fetch a sandwich out of a wicker basket, a red-checked blanket spread beneath her. The girl didn't seem to mind the bees and flies buzzing around her ear, flicking them away easily with the back of her hand. The pale blue dress she wore hugged her body, emphasising curves in all the right places. This time, her hair wasn't held up and cascaded down her back in golden waves. Fenrir found himself leaning forward, hoping to see more. Would she turn around so he could see her face? Would she see him and scream, or would she smile at his handsome features, like so many others had?

"Why are staring like that?"

Jumping, he spun around to see Alex behind him, his head tilted. Recovering with a frown, he said, "I'm not staring—I'm simply analysing our prey."

"Oh," Alex said, nodding. Then, scanning the field, he said, "Well, it looks clear to me. The lady is all alone, should we attack?"

Yes, absolutely. Alex was right; it was the perfect time to leap on the unsuspecting girl, before any company returned.

Fenrir shook out his legs as he, too, looked around the field to make sure it was clear. He could pick up evidence of other Muggles being nearby—the essence of after-shave here, a car door slamming further out in the car park. They were much too far away to reach the girl in time.

"I think so." Bracing himself to run, he glanced to see what she was doing.

Her face was now turned to the sun, providing him with a better view of her closed eyes. Long, thick lashes fanned out, yet not able to take away from the beauty of her full, pink lips ensconced in a smile. A faint blush coloured her cheeks. She was perfection; God really had outdone himself with this one.

Fenrir remained watching as her blue eyes flew open, her head turning towards the forest's edge. Confused, he looked to his left, only to realise that Alex was not there. A snap of a twig to his right had his head swinging the other way, where the boy stood, body tensed and legs wide apart as he prepared to attack.

As the boy lurched forward, Fenrir's hand lashed out, gripping the boy by his collar. Tugging on it—wary that the blonde would soon locate what she could only now sense—he jerked the boy back.

"Ow! What did you do that fo—"

Fenrir clapped a hand over the boy's mouth, grimacing as the boy muffled protests left spit on his palm. He dragged him backwards, further into the confines of the forest. With an eye on the girl, he was relieved to see that she was still eyeing the forest, questioning eyes moving back and forth along the line of trees. Good, she hadn't seen them.

"You were supposed to wait for my orders, _pup_ ," Fenrir spat, glaring at Alex as he wriggled in his arm.

Reaching up his hands, the boy tried to claw his way out of Fenrir's grip. His throat moved as he gulped, tempting Fenrir to tear into it. It was only with great restraint that he was able to toss the boy to the ground, satisfaction stemming instead from the way Alex scrambled on the dirt floor.

"But—"

"How many times have I told you, wait until I specifically say 'attack'."

Alex glared up at him, sitting upright. Brushing the dirt from his chest, he said, "But you did."

Fenrir leaned forward, baring his teeth. His head felt hot; he didn't have time to deal with the boy. "Let's see if you can follow this order, then: Go back to Rupert, and tell him it was too dangerous."

"But—"

"Tell him the girl was not alone, or you'll be the one I serve up for our next meal, got it?" he snarled.

Alex continued glaring as he stood up. Then, feeling the power of his own venomous glare, he shrugged his shoulders. "Fine, she stank anyway."

Fenrir didn't cease his glare until he was sure that the boy had retreated into the forest. With a sigh, he turned back to the field where the blonde sat, her back turned as she inevitably convinced herself that her imagination was running wild.

What had he done? Was he finally going crazy, letting the girl go free, again?

A deep growl emanating from his throat, Fenrir watched her munch on the sandwich she held. "You, my dear, are an itch that needs to be scratched," he muttered to himself. Balling his fists up and growling again as his sharp nails dug into his skin, he vowed, "Believe you me, I will do more than scratch when we meet again."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three: Lights in the Dark**

"Petra Williams? Petra! Can your hear us?"

"Keep your torches to the ground, lads, and look for any disturbances in the soil."

Fenrir slunk behind the large roots of the nearest tree, the silhouettes and torch beams of the approaching Muggles reaching him well after the owners' voices did. He could see the small group examining the leafy undergrowth meter by meter, fallen leaves crunching beneath polished shoes. Their breaths come out in cloudy puffs; their sweaty odours assaulting his nose. Every now and again one would shout and bend down, excitement shining in their eyes, and sweep away dead leaves. Fenrir's smile would only grow as, just as quickly, they would stand back up and shake their head.

"Anything, Constable?" one of the Muggles asked the third time his comrade thought he had seen something of interest.

The man shook his head, turning to his team. "Not yet," he admitted, aiming his torchlight through the trees. The policeman's eyes were narrowed, as he continued, "But I am sure we'll find the woman around here somewhere."

Wrong direction, sweethearts.

The group murmured, and another man stepped forward, taking the lead. "C'mon, Alfred's right. Bring Caver up front and let's keep going."

Fenrir tensed as a chain rattled and another, slightly familiar smell entered his nose. Cautiously sniffing the air, he peered toward the back of the group where the most movement occurred. Ah yes, of course they had brought a fellow mutt along to help their search.

The German shepherd in their midst echoed his movements, pulling at the leash as the group parted to make room for him. After pressing his nose to the ground for a few minutes, the dog looked up, glowing eyes connecting with his.

Fenrir emitted a low growl—inaudible to the Muggle's but picked up by the shepherd's keen hearing—and lifted his chin. He did not break eye contact with the beast, nor did he blink. The shepherd took a step forward, ears flattened against its head. Fenrir growled again, teeth bared this time, and eventually, the dog let out a low whine.

"What is it, boy? Have you got something?" one of the men asked the dog.

Moving back, Fenrir continued holding the dog's eyes. Go on, keep going, they don't need to know about me. Drag them away. The dog whimpered again, before tugging on his leash and barking twice. With a wag of his tail, the dog then pulled, and the Muggles were off once more.

Good boy. When he had a chance, he would practice on another dog and prepare himself to take the top position in the pack. A leader who could not give orders was non-existent.

Fenrir watched them for a moment, making sure they were going. Slowly and carefully, not stirring the leaves, he turned and retreated. His ears were trained on the Muggles, keeping alert should they decide to change direction. So far, so good; he could hear a bark every now and then, growing farther and farther away. He was in the clear.

Or so he thought.

The snap of a twig had him spinning around, heart beating faster. Torchlight shone in his eyes, and he snarled, lifting his arms to shield them. Dammit, he had lost focus thanks to those bloody Muggles. Behind the beam, he could hear a pulse beating frantically. Someone cleared their throat and the light swung away.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! You gave me such a fright."

Blinking, he peered up, only to see _her_. Of course she would be here; at least he didn't have to waste any more of his time searching for her. Stepping back, he composed himself by straightening his shirt and fixing a charming smile on his face.

"No harm done," he lied, winking at the blonde in front of him. "This forest seems scary at this time of night, doesn't it?"

Christine nodded, looking around with wide eyes. Fenrir could see her chest rising and falling heavily, the smell of fear rolling off of her in great waves. Moving his eyes back to her face, he realised she was now staring at him.

"Erm, I don't mean to be rude, but… What exactly are you doing out here?" she asked, voice wavering.

It was pleasant to his ears, so soft and unsure. It was sort of like a deer's voice if one could talk, he imagined. It certainly matched the doe-like appearance as she stared at him, her feet twisting as though she was deciding whether or not to flee. He almost felt sorry for her; she was so delicate, so small, so fragile. Had he a choice, he could easily envelope her in his arms and tell her it would be alright. He could imagine stroking that silky mane of hers, whispering into her ear comforting words… No, he mustn't get distracted again; it was time for the games to begin.

Tilting his head, he answered, "I was out looking for my cousin."

"Your cousin?"

Holding his hand out for Caroline to shake it, he introduced himself, "I'm Alex."

He could've been honest, but this wench did not deserve the honour of knowing the name of her killer, not when she had caused him so much trouble.

"Caroline." The girl took his hand, tilting her head to the side.

Fenrir's heart leapt as he felt the pulse underneath her smooth, silky skin. _Thump, thump, thump_. The beat was steady, the blood rushing back and forth like a stream.

"Pleased to meet you."

Christine stared at their connected hands, withdrawing hers. Looking up at him through her long lashes, she said, "You too. I'm afraid Petra never mentioned you before; in fact, I didn't know she had any cousins in this shire."

"Really? She's mentioned you, a lot," he smiled with another wink. "It's true though, I'm from down south. I only came up to visit my aunt, only finding out that there was a search party out about half an hour ago. I suppose I got a little lost on the way," he finished with a shrug.

She blushed, looking away. Yep, Werewolf or not, he still had his charm. The breeze around them picked up, blowing blonde wisps of hair about her face. A shiver wracked her body, and she wrapped her arms tightly around her, the dress she wore much too thin. Perfect.

Shrugging off the trench coat he wore, he moved forward and wrapped it around the girl's shoulders. It was much too big for her, enveloping her in a mound of khaki. The collar covered her neck, and he took his time adjusting it for her, sniffing her neck. A refreshing scent of lavender replaced the perfume from before, and he took in another whiff. Christine froze, and for a horrid moment, he thought she could smell the trace of backpacker still on the coat.

"Th-thank you," she stammered, turning around to face him.

She was flustered. Cute. Fenrir moved around to face her, the smile still upon his face. Proffering his hand out to her once more, he asked, "Shall we continue looking?"

After a moment's hesitation, her eyes searching his face, she nodded and took it. Fenrir's heart leapt once more, but he squashed the feeling and lead her deeper into the forest.

The further they went in, the colder it became. Between calling out for her friend—Fenrir piping in every now and again—Christine would shiver and clutch the coat tightly. Fenrir would step closer to her, so that by the time they entered a small clearing forty minutes later, he was pressed against her, feeling every heartbeat and intake of breath through his shirt.

The girl broke away, spinning in a circle as she took in her surroundings. Fenrir stood watching, his ears searching for any sign of life that could threaten his plan. He could no longer hear the desperate shouts of the police group, nor could he hear any animals. As usual, they would have sensed his presence and made themselves scarce. At least they had more sense to escape than Christine did.

Running his tongue over his teeth and flexing his fingers, he prepared for the kill. Now was the time—anymore waiting, and the girl would probably elicit too loud a scream, and he didn't want to risk his pack members hearing and taking what was his. Christine's eyes were already dilated under the pale moonlight, her head jerking as she looked to and fro as a breeze filtered through the tree branches.

"Maybe we should head back now? The others might've had better luck."

Fenrir dug his shoes into the ground, tensing his muscles in just a way so that he could spring at her. Leaving her any room to run might also alert his pack mates to her presence; besides, there were other methods than a good chase to make his victim quake before the kill.

"Alex?"

Christine turned around. Her eyes softened as she looked at him and she took a step forward. Why wasn't she screaming? Were his eyes not glowing menacingly, or his once devilishly handsome face not transformed into a nightmare? Fenrir paused, his skin tingling as the girl took his hand.

Glancing up, he saw that her eyes were locked into his. Blue wasn't the right term to describe them; they were like the ocean when it was undisturbed by human waste. Blue like a cloudless day, or a rare Ceylon sapphire caught in daylight. He gazed into them, losing sight of the confused man they reflected and diving instead into their depths. The breeze picked up, blowing golden strands across her face once more. It tickled his nose as he leant forward, her hand still clutching his. It was cold yet warm, their wrists connected and pulses beating at the same time.

No. NO. He would not fail again.

"Are you ok, Alex?"

Why was the air getting thinner? Was she a Witch and cast a spell to make increase his breathing? No, he would have detected that. So why was his throat dry? Why could he not form any words?

He flinched as Christine raised her hand, placing it upon his cheek. Like her other, it was both warm yet simultaneously cold.

"Hey, it'll be ok, I promise… We'll find her, I'm sure of it," she whispered.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her face, now drowning in her eyes. No, no, no; he would not fail again. Gulping—something he had not done for over a decade—he lifted his hand, determined to rip it away. It wouldn't move, however, and he was left no choice but to breathe out.

Christine smiled, dropping her hand. "Come on, let's have a rest."

Her hips swinging, she walked over to a root growing out of the ground. With a playful smirk, she patted the spot next to her, and Fenrir found himself walking to her.

Shit. Ripping her throat out was going to be harder than he thought.

* * *

 _ **A/N: The fourth and final part to this tale, unfortunately, will be posted (and written) tomorrow. A big thank you to Lizy2000 for her reviews :) I'm afraid this tale may not turn out exactly as you'd hope, for I'm starting to wonder if the Grimm Brother's take on things have got stuck into my head lol. This chapter has only been run through a paper-checker and not a beta, so I also apologise if I may have repeated some descriptions...and for the fact that I cannot describe blue eyes. Any and all reviews are welcomed and appreciated, thank you for reading! xx**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four: Rising Sun**

Sunlight filtered through the treetops, casting patches of bright light onto the forest floor.

Fenrir groaned, the light assaulting his eyes. Rubbing the back of his hand over them, he sat up, blinking. Immediately, his head began to spin, his surroundings a blur of green, grey and brown. Every single muscle in his body ached, yet the dirt beneath him presented its usual soft bedding. Shielding his eyes with his arms, he waited for the world to right itself before looking around. Everything looked familiar; the trees were just as tall, towering over him like grey giants and the bark and leaves were strewn around like some damn pixie had come by throwing them around. Nothing was unrecognisable: logs, roots, dirt, moss, _her_.

Sitting up, Fenrir pushed Christine's pale arm off him, the night before becoming clearer in his mind. He needed to take a dip in a river, to wash off his sins. Dammit. How had he succumbed to her charms—again? She hadn't been his worst experience, nor had she been his best.

Snarling to himself, he dug his hand into the dirt and clawed it. Then, not satisfied that he had achieved anything, he pushed back his long, dark hair, taking care to scrape his skull. What an idiot he was—what an absolute idiot! What kind of wolf had he been last night, to allow someone to break down his walls? He was a killer, not a sex-addict. Taking pleasure in the kill was ok, but this was too much. Hot blood rushed through his body, fuelling his anger.

It took him a few more minutes to calm down, gulping in the fresh air nature provided. It didn't matter; everything would be alright. He would still be able to return to his rightful place in the world as fearless hunter. It wasn't too late.

Looking back at the girl, the thought disappeared. Her skin shone as the sun kissed it, her tan no longer visible, but making no difference to her beauty. Fenrir marvelled at the way it looked just as smooth as it had felt, his fingertips tingling at the memory of trailing his hands down it the night before. Her dress was ripped in places, revealing more of her skin—particularly her shapely thighs—causing his stomach to grumble.

His eyes swept over her body once more, lingering on places here and there, before he eyed her face. Her golden hair was swept in front of it and covered her neck. Even with the leaves in it it looked perfect. Strangely, it hadn't got in the way, and had actually improved the experience for him. Who knew a girl would purr when her hair was stroked? Focusing on her eyes, he noticed that her thick eyelashes were fanned across it once more, reminiscent of the day he had watched her in the field. Despite the fact that she could no longer be considered virtuous anymore, she still looked like an angel.

Well played, God, well played.

It was tempting to reach out and stroke her hair once more, to feel the silk run through his fingertips again. He resisted, however; it would be going too far...even if he had already crossed that line. It was best to leave her be, peacefully lying on the forest floor. Besides, he could always come back if he wanted more.

Rolling his shoulders and stretching out his legs, he got up. A good run in the fresh air would do him some good. Ensuring that his ankles were fit to take his weight, he set off, licking the remaining blood off his lips and nails as he went.

A win was a win, and now it was time to get back to normal.

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 _ **A/N: So... this was the final chapter and I decided to write it out tonight (so hopefully it isn't too bad). I may write more to his story, but this was only a glimpse into Fenrir's life and written mainly for the DAII Fairytale Challenge. I hope you enjoyed it, and apologies for any language/ implied meanings, etc within (hence the rating). In case my writing really sucked, yes, he killed Christine. He did have feelings for her, and they did have fun, but yeah, it is Greyback we're talking about...Anyway, thank you all for reading :)**_


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